


Out of the Dark

by flipflop_diva



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Content, Adultery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Porn, Both are 17, F/M, HP: EWE, Heavy Angst, Post-Canon, Two Different Timelines, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:04:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4886491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter was convinced he was in love with Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger was convinced she was in love with Ron Weasley, until one night changed everything they thought they knew — for better and for worse. Because breaking the hearts of two people to be with the one you really love isn't as easy when lives and families and loyalties are involved. But secrets and lies can't be hidden forever, and when they all come out, nothing will ever be the same. Set partly during Deathly Hallows and partly post-Deathly Hallows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I actually started this story about four years ago, and it has been sitting unfinished in my WIP folder ever since, but I still ship Harry/Hermione like there is no tomorrow and I decided it was about time I finished this and posted it. So here goes nothing ;)

In the story of his life, he’s not really sure where their story starts. Maybe it started that day in the tent, out in the cold, waiting desperately and fearfully for their future to reveal itself, afraid they weren’t even going to have a future. Maybe it started the day the war ended, when they once again found a comfort and a solace in each other’s arms that no one else could offer, but in the process further created a secret no one else could know. Or maybe it started way after that, in whispered conversations after the others had gone to bed and in hidden meetups over coffee, in quick kisses when no one was looking and in the feeling of the other’s arms. Or maybe it was in the blissful moments they snuck away to be together, or in the guilt and the remorse that hung there afterward when they slipped home to two people who had done nothing but love them and to a family that called them their own.

Or maybe it was the day the secrets and the lies and the sneaking around came to an end, the day they had a new fight to face, a new battle to wage, one that they knew might be even more painful than fighting a dark wizard with no soul.

But then again, sometimes Harry thinks it started long, long before any of that, back to that very first day on the Hogwarts Express, when he was eleven years old and excited, but completely petrified, about the journey and the experience that had lain ahead.

She had flounced in to their compartment that day, had been bossy and demanding and annoying. He still remembered the way her hair had looked extra large and how his eyes had first landed on the front teeth that were slightly larger than the rest.

She had been helping Neville find his toad and Ron had been playing with his wand.

_“Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.”_

He hadn’t liked her. Or so he had thought. But he sometimes wonders if even back then, he had known. He remembered the stolen glances he had shot at her, the almost invisible but still there twinge in his stomach when he realized they were in the same House. He had written it all off as not wanting to be by the annoying girl, but sometimes now he thinks, even then, it had been more.

But when it actually did become more, that’s harder to know. When they saved her from the troll and she transformed from the bossy know-it-all to their other part? When she helped him with homework even as she cast him a disparaging look? The night of the Triwizard Ball when he found her crying over Ron? 

To this day, the thought sends pangs through his body. Back then, he’d told himself then it was the ache and the pain that comes from seeing someone you care about, someone who is one of your best friends, hurting. But that wasn’t it. He just couldn’t admit it. Not then, not for a long time.

•••

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” 

He can see the tears glistening on her cheeks from the silver streaks of moonlight that are the only visible light in the night sky. His hand tightens on hers.

“I know,” he says, but that doesn’t stop him from leaning in and snogging her. It doesn’t stop her from returning his affections, her hand squeezing his tighter.

She pulls back before it can become anything more than snogging.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” she says again, more firmly this time. “We can’t do this. It’s not right. We’re with other people. We’re married to other people. Who love us. And want families with us. And whose hearts I don’t want to break.”

“I know,” he repeats. “I don’t either. I just …”

He stops. She knows what he’s going to say.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” she whispers. “That night. It shouldn’t have happened.”

Of course she says that. For her, it always goes back to that night.

“Yes, it should have,” he retorts, just as he always does when she gets this way. “It’s what happened next that shouldn’t have happened.”

But he doesn’t really mean that, not wholly anyway. 

“They love us!” she whispers, her voice taking on more of a dangerous tone. “He loves me.”

“ _I_ love you.”

“Harry, don’t say that.”

He moves in, presses his lips to hers, snogs her firmly, waits to feel her react, then snogs her more deeply still, makes her feel all the way to her core that he loves her.

“You’ve always been the one, Hermione,” he says as he pulls back. “You know that.”

He sees a tear break loose and drip down her cheek.

 

•••

On the day that most people who heard their story would say it started, he found her curled up in the entrance to the tent, her hands wrapped around her knees, staring blankly outside. It was almost a blizzard out there as the wind whipped trees and snow and everything else around mercilessly.

The storm had been going on for two days at least. Maybe more. He was losing track of time. He doubted anyone could be out there in that, stalking them, but they had to be on their guard. They always had to be on guard. Because at any minute, any second, that could be the end. It was a tiring, never-ending cycle. He wished for the millionth time that they had come up with a better plan, that they had found a different way.

He plopped down next to her and waited for her to acknowledge him. It took awhile, but finally she turned her head and gave him a sad smile. She looked tired, but they both were tired. Tired of all of this, tired of running, tired of waiting. Tired of being alone.

“I know how much you miss him,” he said into the air. “I do too.”

She turned back away from him, staring outside once again, her fingers toying listlessly with the scarf around her neck. “Yeah,” was all she said.

“He might come back,” he told her.

“He won’t be able to find us. You know that. Once we left, that was it.”

“Do you want to go to him? Because you can. I won’t stop you.”

He meant it as the words left his mouth, but as they hung there in the air, he hoped desperately that she wouldn’t take him up on the offer. He wasn’t sure he could do this alone. 

No, scratch that. He was sure he couldn’t do this alone. He needed her to be the voice of reason, to keep him sane. He needed her logic and her brains and her wit.

He needed _her_.

She sighed and looked at him once more. “No. I don’t. I do, but I don’t. I won’t. I need to be here, to see this through. It’s … it’s what I have to do. I’ve sacrificed too much to quit now.”

“I don’t want you to have to sacrifice him too.”

“I’m not. He sacrificed himself. He left.” There were still traces of bitterness in her tone, but more than that, there was hurt. And disappointment.

“I just … I don’t want you to regret staying.”

She forced a smile. “I won’t.”

When he looked unsure, she nodded. “I promise.”

He nodded. “Okay,” then added, “We’ll see him soon. When this is over, after it ends, we’ll see him.”

She shrugged. “If it ends.”

“You don’t believe it will?”

“No, I … I do. I guess. It has to end somehow. It’s just …” She trailed off.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I know.”

They lapsed into silence. It was quiet in the tent, it was probably quiet in the woods, but the only sounds they could hear were the howls of the angry wind. They were so isolated, so alone. Them against the world.

He didn’t want to think about her and Ron. They were his friends and he knew they liked each other, knew they maybe did more than like each other, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of them. 

But he pushed that thought down. He couldn’t give himself the luxury of trying to figure out why and what that meant. Because he knew that meant something that would probably end badly for him. 

So he kept quiet and listened to the wind.

She was the one to break the silence this time.

“You miss her,” she said and he knew she wasn’t asking a question.

“Yeah,” he said. He actually wasn’t sure that he did anymore, but the thought made him feel so insanely guilty that he thought it was best not to let anyone know that. “But it’s okay. I mean, it’s better this way.”

“Is that why you stare at the Marauder’s Map all the time?”

He felt his cheeks grow hot as his eyes snapped up to meet hers. “I, um, I didn’t think you knew about that.”

He didn’t tell her the map was as good a distraction as any.

“Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have been spying on you.”

“No … no. It’s okay,” he stammered. “I mean, you’re right. I do. Look at it. I do. I just … I just want to see where she is, ya know?”

That much was true. He did think about Ginny a lot. He did worry about her. Where she was, what she was doing, if she was safe.

Hermione nodded. “Yeah,” she said wistfully. “I do know.” She trailed off and he could see the light dim just a little more in her eyes.

He sighed. Sometimes he was an idiot.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I should be more considerate.”

“No,” she smiled. “No, you’re fine. I know where he is. At home. With everyone else. With his family. There’s nothing to worry about.”

He knew that wasn’t true. They didn’t know that and there were in fact many things to worry about, but he also knew how much she needed to pretend otherwise.

“You really love her, don’t you?” she finally said. He blinked, for a second almost forgetting who they were talking about

“I, uh, yeah,” he stammered, then sighed. “Maybe. I don’t know. I think so.” 

Did he love her? He had been trying to figure that out for the longest time. One thing about being away from everyone for so long was it gave a person more than enough time to think. Too much time in fact. 

“But it doesn’t matter. I can’t be with her. It would be better if she found someone else. Maybe she did. Maybe she already found someone else. That would be good.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I want to mean that.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I get that.”

There was another long pause.

“You’ll see her again,” she said, “after this is all over. You can work it out.”

“Yeah … maybe …”

“Hey,” she smiled, “if you can believe it for me, then I get to believe it for you. That’s how this thing works. Got it?”

“Yeah. Got it.”

 

•••

 

“This will kill them if they ever find out,” she whispers now. He wipes the tears from her cheeks.

“We aren’t doing anything wrong,” he says softly, but he knows that isn't true.

Her eyes narrow and he can see the glare she’s shooting him even through the darkness.

“Of course we are!” she hisses. “Sneaking around to spend time together, to talk to each other. Snogging when no one’s looking. _Of course_ we’re doing something wrong!”

“We haven’t …”

“Not having sex doesn’t makes us heroes, Harry,” she whispers furiously. “Don’t even.”

He sighs. “So what do you want?”

This stops her. The fury from her eyes dies out in a second and the look that replaces it is one of sadness, of longing.

He knows what he wants the answer to be, but he doesn’t know if that answer will even make a difference at this point.

“What do you want me to say?” she whispers. “That I want you? You know I want you. But we can’t just do that. It will hurt them. It will destroy them. We will lose them. I don’t even know if we can be us without them.”

“How can you even — ”

“How can I even say that?” she asks. “They’re our family! Our only real family. Ron is like your brother, Ginny is like my sister. We would lose them! And not just Ron and Ginny. All of them. All the Weasleys. And our friends. Neville and Luna. We would lose them all!”

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t be stupid, Harry. Even you can see how this would end.”

He feels his temper flare up. “And what does that mean?”

She glares at him. “You know what it means. Things always work out for you. But this?” She waves her hand around. “This is not going to work out. We are going to hurt people. And destroy lives. They are not going to forgive us. Ever.”

Harry shrugs. He’s feeling a little petulant.

“So, what? You’re just going to walk away? From me? From us? Just like that? We’re just going to pretend to be friends and no one’s ever going to know? It’s just going to be easy and simple and perfect? Just like that?”

“No!” Her voice cuts across him. She isn’t bothering to whisper anymore. “You know that’s not true!”

“It’s what you said!” His voice rises along with hers.

“It is not what I said! Not at all!”

“You said you don’t want to destroy them!” he yells.

“I don’t!” she yells out.

“But what about me?”

“What about you?”

“Do you want to destroy me?”

“What?” She glares at him. “Of course not, you idiot! I love you!”

And then she’s in his arms and she’s snogging him, deeply, furiously, like she’s trying to prove something. And he lets her.

Her nails are digging into his back as he pushes her roughly against the couch, falling on top of her.

She rips his shirt off, not caring anymore. He tugs on her blouse, not bothering to stop for every button. He thinks maybe a few rip off, but he doesn’t care.

He’s pushing her skirt up, bunching it at her waist, pulling down her knickers. She’s spreading her legs as she reaches for his trousers, yanking them down.

He’s inside her before either one of them has time to think, their mouths battling, tongues dueling. He knows there will be blood from her nails, she knows there will be bruises from the way they are slamming together. But neither of them care.

In the battle of their lives, this is one they both want to win.

•••

 

He didn’t know what made him do it, but he found himself moving closer to her, his hand reaching out to take hers. She turned to look at him, staring into his eyes.

“I’m really, really glad you’re still here with me, Hermione,” he whispered.

“I’m really, really glad I’m still here with you, Harry,” she whispered back.

“I couldn’t do this without you.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.”

“You have no idea what it means to me that you’re here, that you’ve stuck around, that you’re willing to see this out, no matter what happens.”

He felt her move even closer to him. 

“I think I do,” she whispered, then before she could get another word out, Harry had dropped his head. He didn’t know what he had meant to do, but she moved in closer to him, tilting his head up with her fingers. Their faces, their lips, were now mere centimeters apart. Their eyes found each other, searching, questioning, looking — it was like he could see into her soul, like she could see into his — and there was no going back.

Harry closed the gap, and her arms went around his back as his lips met hers and the troubles around them disappeared. There was nothing else that mattered. No pain, no fear, no heartache. Just them and the feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

Not a nervous butterfly feeling like when he had been with Cho. Not a nauseous feeling like when he had to dance with Parvati. But a feeling that, for once, everything was right.

She didn’t pull back but she stopped.

“What are we doing?” she whispered against his lips. 

His eyes opened and he found himself staring directly into hers. The moment was over.

Sighing he pulled back. “I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t know.”

“You’re my best friend, Harry …”

“You’re _my_ best friend, Hermione …”

“But I think I’m in love with Ron.”

“And I think I’m in love with Ginny.”

“We can’t do this.”

They stared at each other, searching each other’s eyes. So much despair, so much heartache and pain, so much emptiness and loneliness. So much wondering and wishing and hoping and dreaming. So much anguish and worry and fear. Was it really so wrong, Harry thought, for just one moment, to wish all that fear and that pain away?

Hermione answered for him.

“I feel guilty,” she whispered. He could barely hear her over the rush of the wind outside the tent.

“Yeah. Me too,” Harry whispered back. “Me too.”

Because he did. That much he knew.

“They can’t know,” she told him. “About this. Ever. They can’t know.”

“They won’t,” he promised. “They won’t. It’ll be our little secret. Our secret alone.”

That night he had lain in bed, listening to Hermione’s soft breaths, thinking about what had transpired between them. It wasn’t like he had planned for it to happen. But then none of it was how he had planned. 

He had been so naïve when they set out to find the Horcruxes, just assuming everything would fall into place, that they’d find them, that they’d return home in a few months, that he’d get back together with Ginny, that Hermione would get together with Ron, that they’d live happily ever after. That everything would be as simple as he wanted it to be, because he had already been through so much and it just wasn’t fair any other way.

And then everything had gone wrong. They couldn’t find the Horcruxes. They couldn’t even find a clue to where they were. Everything Dumbledore had told him was turning out to be a lie. Everything he thought he knew was turning out to be an illusion. They were hungry, they were tired, they were grumpy and scared and lonely. People out there were dying and there was nothing he could do to save them.

And then Ron had left, and it had just been the two of them. He’d hated hearing her cry and not being able to help. He’d hated Ron for leaving. He’d hated himself for putting her into this situation in the first place.

But even still, he had never planned for any of it to happen, had never even thought about it happening. Until it did happen. And now as he laid there on his bed, knowing she was just a few feet away, he couldn’t really deny that he partially wished it would happen again.

•••

His head is buried in her shoulder, her arms are wrapped around his neck. He’s still inside her, sweaty and panting. He can feel the tiny after effects of her body spasming around him. He never wants to let go, afraid of the argument that is going to come, of the proclamations she’s going to make. Afraid that this time she’ll mean it when she says it really was the last time, because finally, after five years, the guilt is more than she can handle, is more than the love that’s between them.

He wonders again how this happened.

And he is so buried deeply in her and in his own thoughts and emotions that he misses the tell tale signs, the soft pitter of feet in the hall, the soft crack of the door as it opens.

But he doesn’t miss the voice.

“Harry? Hermione? Oh my!”

In an instant, his world tilts on its axis. 

He scrambles up from where they are lying on the couch, hurriedly casting an “Accio” at a pile of blankets he spots on the floor. When he turns around, Luna is staring at them, open-mouthed, aghast. Neville is behind her, pale, shocked. It’s all the four of them can do to just stare at each other. He feels Hermione tremble next to him.

“Oh, Merlin,” Neville finally whispers. “How …”

He doesn't finish. Luna speaks for him.

“How could you do this?” she practically hisses. Harry almost jumps. He can’t remember ever seeing Luna mad. At anyone. Ever. It shames him more than anything else ever could. 

She’s still talking. “I don’t believe this. The two of you! I don’t even …” She trails off and goes back to just staring wordlessly at them.

Harry hangs his head, shame coloring his cheeks. “It wasn’t supposed to happen,” he mumbles. 

“I doubt that’s going to be much of a consolation to Ron and Ginny,” Neville retorts. 

Hermione’s hand flies to her mouth and she lets out a soft cry. She gathers up her clothes from the floor, and there’s nothing Harry can do but watch as she flees, Luna trailing after her.

He’s alone with Neville now, who is looking like he either wants to punch Harry in the face or throw up. Harry isn’t sure which. Harry isn’t sure what he feels either. He stares at the blankets and not at Neville. The silence is unnerving.

After what seems an eternity, Neville finally breaks the horrible silence. “How long?”

Harry looks up. “We haven’t … we aren’t … that was a mistake. We never ….”

He doesn’t even know how to answer. Neville purses his lips and stares at Harry intently. Harry knows Neville knows he’s lying. It’s like the other man can see right into his soul. But how can he tell Neville, no matter how good of friends they are, that this isn’t a mistake? Or at least not all of it.

“You’re in love with her. Aren’t you?” For a second, Neville’s voice lowers, but his eyes still betray his fury. There is nothing to do anymore but tell the truth.

Harry nods. Neville’s eyes soften, slightly, for a second, and then they harden once again. “Harry, what are you doing?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t even know.”

“You know you have to tell Ginny. Tell Ron. And then what? What then?”

Harry looks up and meets his eyes. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t. That’s been the problem the entire time.

“You want to be with her?” Neville asks.

“Yes.” He says this without hesitation.

“Is she worth it? Is she worth all this? All the damage, all the destruction? You have a wife. She has a husband.”

Harry’s stomach clenches when he thinks of Ron and Ginny. Of all the Weasleys. Of the way they are going to look at him when they know. The disappointment, the betrayal, that is going to be in their eyes. Harry thinks he might just throw up.

“I’m waiting for an answer,” Neville says sternly. But Harry can’t answer. He thinks it might have been worth it. But honestly? Right now, he really doesn’t know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Harry remembers how it all began, in the present, they all begin to realize there is no going back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some sex between two minors (they're both 17) in this chapter, so if that bothers you, feel free to skip!

They managed to keep their word for a few days. They didn’t talk about, and neither one of them even mentioned it. It was almost like it hadn’t happened at all. 

There were a few awkward moments, like when he accidentally brushed her arm when they were securing the area around their new location, or when she walked in as he was changing into his pajamas and then backed quickly out, her face flushed. But for the most part, things were normal. 

They discussed options, debated possible Horcrux locations, plotted what they would do if they actually found all the Horcruxes. They talked about guarding and protecting the tent. They reminisced about Hogwarts and the fun times spent in the Gryffindor Common Room. She watched the Maurader’s Map when he did. He assured her Ron was just fine. She assured him Ginny was, too. They avoided any subject that even could come close to discussing what happened that night.

Until six nights after the night they had kissed. Hermione had been having a bad day. A really bad day. She had woken up grumpy and cranky and nothing Harry could do or say could make her feel better. He thought maybe she had had a dream about Ron, but he honestly wasn’t sure.

He was on guard duty for most of the afternoon. She stayed in the tent re-reading the Ancient Runes fairy tale book that Dumbledore had left her, searching for any new clue she might have missed the first six thousand times around. They ate their lunch and dinner in silence and avoided each other’s eyes. When it was time to switch guard duty, they did it without exchanging a word.

But as he lay in his bed that night, wishing for sleep to come, he heard it. Tiny, muffled sounds coming from the entrance of the tent. 

She was crying.

He tried to ignore it, but it wasn’t working. He couldn’t just leave it be. So he slipped out of bed and made his way toward her, dropped down beside her.

When she finally realized he was there, her cheeks turned red in embarrassment.

“Ron?” he asked softly. She shrugged.

He looked at her. She looked so sad, not grumpy or angry like she had looked earlier in the day but sad. Tears were filling her eyes, and her fingers were picking a hole in the wool sweater she was wearing.

Harry felt his heart break just looking at her.

And then he had an idea.

He held out a hand to her. She looked at him in surprise. Or maybe it was skeptism.

“What?” she asked.

“Dance with me.”

Her brow furrowed. “What? Harry. Come on. I’m guarding here.”

He waved his hand at the snow that was starting to pick up again outside. “No one is out there. Not in this.” He grinned at her. “Not any sane person at least.”

That won him a soft smile. 

“Come on,” he said.

“There isn’t any music,” she said.

He shrugged. “We don’t music.”

She sighed. “You aren’t going to give up, are you?”

He shook his head and grinned more. “No.”

She shook her head at him in frustration, or maybe annoyance, but she stood up all the same. “Fine,” she said, and gave him her hand. He pulled her close to him and started dancing with her, twirling her in circles as he spun them around the room.

She hesitated at first, not sure about the whole thing, still not really in the mood to be dancing, but as they went, he felt her relax, saw her face soften, saw a real smile start to form on her lips. And then the smile got bigger and a giggle escaped from her mouth. A giggle that turned into a real laugh.

Harry felt his heart swell at the sound.

And then it had happened. They were dancing. And he was holding her in his arms. And she was smiling and she was laughing and he couldn’t remember ever seeing someone look so beautiful. 

And then it was like something he couldn’t describe took over his body. A feeling, an impulse he had never had before, not even with Ginny in the moments they had lain together under the trees near the lake. This was something else. It was like he couldn’t control himself. It was like he stopped thinking and was just doing.

His hands tightened around her waist, his eyes bored into hers, his head moved and his lips met hers.

And again that sensation. Like they were meeting, melting, becoming one.

It was magical, it was perfect. 

She didn’t stop him. 

He kissed her harder, found himself seeking entrance to her mouth with his tongue. She let him, and soon, their lips and tongues were moving together, exploring, tasting. His fingers moved up to stroke her cheek, smooth her hair, feel her silky skin under his hand.

She wrapped her arms around him and moved in closer.

He guessed later that it was him who made the move, who gently laid her down on the tent floor, but he doesn’t really remember how it happened. He just remembers that there they were and his fingers, as if by their own accord, were slowly pushing her flannel shirt off her shoulders.

He dipped his hands under her t-shirt, feeling the smooth expanse of the skin of her stomach. She moaned softly against his lips, moving her hands to his shirt.

He stopped what he was doing to help her, lifting his own shirt off his head and tossing it away. He returned his hands then to her shirt, sliding it up her body. She raised her arms and he pulled it off.

She was before him then, in just a plain black bra, but he gulped, feeling his jeans grow tighter at the sight. He knew then he had to have her.

He reached behind her, fumbling for the snap, trying to figure out how in the heck to take that thing off. She giggled again then and helped him.

It was the first time he had seen a girl’s — no, a woman’s — breasts. He stared at them, soft and round with little pink tips. His hands lifted, then hung in midair, as his brain tried to decide if this was okay.

She nodded at him and he took a deep breath before continuing what he started. His hands slid over her warm flesh, and his fingers rubbed at the soft mounds, his thumbs brushing over the hardened nipples.

She sighed softly, then returned to kissing him.

They lay there together for awhile, just kissing and exploring. He stroked her breasts and ran his hands up and down her stomach and along her sides, and her fingers explored every crevice of his chest. 

By then there was no going back, and it wasn’t even really an option when they finally each slipped out of their jeans. It was inevitable. 

The light in the tent was fading as he looked at the girl in front of him, dressed only in a pair of black cotton knickers. 

He wasn’t sure what to do, but she nodded. “Go ahead,” she whispered as she took his hand and directed it toward her, pressing it down on her warm pelvis.

He gulped — hoping she didn’t notice — then let his fingers trail over the top of her knickers. He found the sides, gripped them as tightly as he could so he didn’t do something wrong, and pulled them down. She lifted her hips up to make it easier.

He kept his eyes only on her knickers as he slid them down long, pale legs. It wasn’t until he had placed them on the floor beside him that he turned back to her and finally saw her — beautiful, naked, glorious. His eyes took in her most intimate area, the soft tuft of hair at the crest of her legs.

He had never seen anything more beautiful, never wanted anything so badly.

He quickly removed his own undergarments and positioned himself over her.

It was easier that he had anticipated. There was some fumbling, some awkwardness. He felt himself turn red as his fingers brushed over her slit, felt for the first time the warm moisture between her legs, but once he had entered her, slowly and steadily so as not to hurt her, it was like everything fell into place.

He’d held her in his arms when they were finished, her head on his chest as she fell asleep, his fingers stroking gently along her spine, playing with her hair. Her legs were tangled with his and he could feel the heat from where they had been joined.

He had known two things at that moment — that no matter what he had tried to convince himself of in the past, the truth was that she was the only girl he had ever really wanted. Unfortunately, he also knew she was also the only girl he wasn’t sure he could ever really have.

•••

“Harry, you’re an idiot.” Neville’s voice breaks the silence. They have been sitting there for what seems like ages, though in reality, it has probably not been more than twenty minutes. Luna has not returned with Hermione. Neither has Hermione returned alone.

Harry wonders where she is, where they both are, wonders if Luna is yelling at her, if Hermione is crying. If Hermione is deciding she’d rather be with Ron than with him.

He looks down at his hands. He hates that the idea of that is the most horrid thing he can imagine.

What kind of person wants to take away his best mate’s wife? And not because he’s a bad husband or a bad friend or anything even close to that. But just because he had the unfortunate luck of marrying a girl who was in love with someone else.

Harry reminds himself angrily that that had nothing to do with any sort of luck though. That was all him and Hermione and a stupid promise that he never should have agreed to.

But it’s too late to change the past, and Neville is expecting him to say something.

“Yeah. I am,” he says. He doesn’t know what else to say. He is an idiot. He knows this. And at this moment, nothing is going to make this better. Nothing is even going to make it right. Their lives as they knew them are forever changed.

He wonders if maybe he should try to reason with Neville, get him to not tell Ron or Ginny. But he knows without hesitation that Neville would balk at that.

He doesn’t even make a move to reason with him, just lets the feel of Neville’s fury and disgust wash over him.

“How long?” Neville finally says, and Harry can’t bear to tell him. Neville takes his silence, though, as some kind of answer.

“Oh, Merlin,” he whispers in horror. “Tell me not before you were married?”

“Why?” Harry raises his head at this and looks the other man in the eye. “Will that make it better? Will that make it any easier?”

“Knowing that you could have prevented this way back when?” Neville arches an eyebrow. “No, it wouldn’t make it better to know that. But I don’t know that it would make it much worse either.”

Harry just shrugs at this, and he can feel Neville’s disappointment deepen.

“How could you?” he whispers again, and Harry doesn’t answer. What is there to say?

They drift into silence once more. Harry wishes he could escape. Maybe he could. Just stand up and Apparate. Just be gone. Send Hermione an owl somewhere down the road telling her where he is.

Maybe that would be better, just disappearing, not having to see the looks on Ron and Ginny’s faces. Not having to see the pain.

He never wanted to hurt them. Ever.

He doesn’t know how he could have been this stupid. He saw this coming — the writing has been on the wall since that first kiss outside the tent — but he hasn’t wanted to believe it. Not then, not now, not ever. He’s never wanted to have to pick between the friend he doesn’t think he can live without and the girl he knows he doesn’t want to live without. 

And it isn’t like he doesn’t love Ginny. Because he does. Truly. Deeply. Just not the way he loves Hermione. 

It’s a different type of love. Ginny is like him, she gets him, she thinks like him. They have fun and they laugh and they talk and he can see himself sitting on a porch swing with her, riding brooms with their great grandchildren.

It’s not that he doesn’t love her because he does.

It’s just different with Hermione. With her, it’s a need and an ache and a passion and knowing that they just _belong_ together.

He loves Ginny, but he’s in love with Hermione. And there is just no way that he can have them both anymore.

But he knew this was coming. He’s known it since the day Ron had returned to them at the campsite and he and Hermione had agreed to keep quiet. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t meant to keep his promise, because he had. 

He had done his best, tried to forget what happened between them. He’d gone back to looking at the dot that was Ginny on the Marauder’s Map, had gone back to picturing his future with her, had gone back to picturing little babies with red hair like their mother.

He had invested himself so much in imagining a future with Ginny that, for a time, he had even managed to convince himself that it was all he had ever wanted.

And he had wanted it. The day they got married, Ginny was the only one he had been thinking about. The day Hermione had married Ron, he really had been happy for them both. At least he thinks he was. 

He had wanted that life that he and Ginny had sat and talked about for hours. He had wanted that life for them, and for Ron and Hermione.

He had loved Ginny. He had. He had loved her truly and deeply and fully. He still does. It is one thing he has always been sure of, will always be sure of.

He wishes now he could explain to someone how it changed, where it had all gone wrong, what had really started the course of action that was now spinning them out of control. 

It was probably about two to three years after they had each gotten married. Ginny and Ron had been working a lot. Harry had been spending more time with Hermione.

It had just been lunch. Or a butterbeer after work. Or a nighttime walk. Or a trip to Diagon Alley just because.

And then it hadn’t been just those things. It had suddenly become so much more. It had turned into talks that lasted into the early hours of the morning, innocent touching that turned to hand holding that turned to kisses, feelings that had turned from friends back into something that was so much more than friends.

And then it had turned into this. And now they are here. And it is all a mess.

•••

The morning after it happened the very first time, he woke up alone. The tent was empty and a peek outside revealed nothing. He tugged on some clothes and went to stand guard.

She returned a few hours later, a basket of fruit in her arms. 

“I got some stuff for lunch,” she said, and she smiled at him.

They didn’t talk about it then, did not breathe a single word about what had happened. But that night, as they both readied themselves for bed, she slipped in beside him without asking.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her as they slept.

It went on like that for weeks, for months.

They never really ever talked about what happened, and they never had sex again. They never even kissed. But when they held hands to Apparate, they would leave their hands entwined for a lot longer than they really needed to be, and when they both went to sleep at the same time, she would cuddle beside him, nestled in his embrace.

And then it happened. Ron returned.

“What do you want to do?” Harry asked her that night. They had made a pretense of going to collect stuff for dinner. Ron was left behind to guard the tent.

Hermione was furious at Ron, angry for the way he abandoned them, but Harry knew it was more than that. The secret between them was contributing, and he knew she was battling her thoughts and emotions.

“I don’t know,” she whispered as she started pointing her wand at the fish swimming past them in the river, her spells missing every one by a long shot. “I don’t know what to do.”

She stomped her foot. “I am so angry with him! He just left us, and now he comes back, and he wants everything to be back to normal. But nothing is back to normal and nothing is okay. And nothing is how he left it. And why can’t he see that?”

She stomped her foot again, tears springing to her eyes as she did so.

“I hate him,” she bit out furiously.

“No, you don’t,” Harry said. He understood the confusion, though. He wasn’t really even sure how he felt about Ron himself. Overjoyed to have him back. Grateful for him saving him from the Horcrux. But maybe a little angry at him for having abandoned them in the first place? Or maybe a bit angry that he had come back? It wasn’t like he and Hermione had been having the time of their lives, but the moments between them …. Harry wasn’t sure. It was all a mess.

“It’s up to you,” he told her then as she shot more spells at fish and missed even more, the flashes bouncing off rocks and even a tree.

She threw her wand down on the ground.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” she cried out, and Harry honestly couldn’t tell what exactly she was referring to.

She sank down on to the ground beside her wand.

“I don’t know,” she said again. “I just don’t know.”

“We need to make some sort of decision,” Harry said.

She nodded. “I know.”

She scraped the dirt with her finger. “Maybe we don’t say anything,” she said. “For now. Maybe we don’t say anything until we can figure it out. Until we’ve had time to think about it.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

He wasn’t really sure that it did, but he’d told her it could be her choice. And that he had meant.

“Yeah,” she repeated. “Yeah, we’ll do that. For now. We’ll do that for now.”

•••

It seems like hours before Luna returns, dragging Hermione behind her. Hermione’s eyes are red and puffy, and she looks as distressed as Harry feels.

She drops on to the couch beside Harry, and he takes her hand.

Harry sees Luna’s gaze narrow at that, and he holds Hermione’s hand a little tighter, as though in defiance.

“You need to tell them,” Luna says. Harry gets the distinct impression that she is not asking politely and if it means forcing them by wand point to do so, then she will.

But it doesn’t mean he’s going down without a fight.

“Not tonight,” he says. “It’s a party for Molly. Her birthday. Don’t ruin this night-“

“ _I_ didn’t ruin this night,” Luna says.

“We’ll tell them in the morning. Give them one last night to be happy.”

“Give them one last night to be lied to? Give you two one last night to get away with it?” The biting edge to Luna’s voice is disturbing. This is a side of her he has never seen before and, truthfully, never wants to see again.

“That’s not what I –“

“Yes, it is,” she cuts in. “It is what you want, and I’m not going to give you that satisfaction.”

“People are going to be _hurt_!” Harry cries out in indignation. He contemplates Apparating right then and there. 

“And whose fault is that?” Luna snaps back.

“She’s right.” Hermione sniffs from beside him. “It’s our fault.”

Harry just glares at Luna. He doesn’t need anyone reminding him of that. He knows it too well already.

“Look,” Luna starts, and this time her voice is soft, almost melodic, almost normal. “I get it. You love her. She’s your unicorn. But you need to set Ron and Ginny free.”

She smiles sadly at them. “Waiting never makes anything easier.”

Harry bites his lip. He hates how she always gets right to the heart of every matter. It’s disconcerting.

“Fine,” he finally says. There is no way out. He knows this. He might as well face the music.

He and Hermione get to their feet, slowly, almost painfully. Harry wants to freeze this moment forever, not because he enjoys it but because he knows it’s about to get so much worse. But there is nothing he can do to slow down time, to postpone the inevitable.

They start down the hall. Neville and Luna follow them, their hands clasped together (Harry wonders if it’s a sign of solidarity between them), their faces stony (all signs of understanding vanish the second they get out of the room), their eyes watching Harry and Hermione’s every move. There is no way they are going to let Harry and Hermione get out of this.

Harry has never been so nervous in his life, never felt so guilty, never felt so horrible.

He shifts his eyes to take in the woman standing beside him. He knows he loves her, he knows he wants to be with her. But losing Ron, losing Ginny …. it was never in the plans, never in the cards.

He knows now there never were any plans. Just a stupid hope that he could have both lives. He should have known better. Merlin, he should have known better.

The devastation they’re about to cause is going to be horrific. He knows that. And it’s killing him.

But he has never once backed down from a fight, walked away from a battle. What he told Hermione earlier that day was the truth. She has always been the one. Now it’s time to step up and face the consequences.

He takes a deep breath and glances one more time at her. She nods, almost imperceptibly, and he knows she’s ready too.

They take a step forward, toward Ron and Ginny, and toward their fate.


End file.
